


Next to Godliness

by ktula, Splintered_Star



Series: Undead [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blasphemy, Blood Kink, Dominant Armitage Hux, Erotic Toothcleaning, Human/Vampire Relationship, Humiliation, Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Impotence, Submissive Kylo Ren, Verbose Descriptions of Hux, implied disordered eating, vampire lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktula/pseuds/ktula, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splintered_Star/pseuds/Splintered_Star
Summary: Ren has desires thick enough to choke him. Ren wants, badly enough to come to Hux as soon as Hux returns from a trip.But Hux has a few requirements before he gives Ren what he wants.(Hux knows what vampires are like. And he wants Ren to beclean.)





	Next to Godliness

**Author's Note:**

> We made you another vampire fic.
> 
> It's about oral hygiene.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to deadsy, who beta'd for us.

Ren paces in the hallway, within visible sight of the door to Hux’s rooms. Hux is back. He knows it, he can hear Hux moving around in his rooms, can hear the kettle whistling as he brews tea, can hear the rustle of—Hux disrobing, or unpacking, or doing whatever he’s doing in there, and Ren wants to _see_ more than he wants anything.

He pauses, stares at the door. His hand tenses and steps forward to knock, and then shakes his head, the movement sudden and sharp like a branch breaking. He resumes pacing. He feels his habitual self-denial far more acutely than usual, a gnawing inside the marrow of his bones that he fears will not be sated by blood, when he finally lowers himself to having any.

_Humans are dumb beasts and think only of their next meal. We are better._

_Yes, Leader Snoke._

He fears it’s not the blood that’s gotten to him this time, because he’s never quite been able to avoid the pull of it. He fears, this time, that it’s Hux, Leader Snoke’s human liaison.

He’s never been to Hux’s rooms before, and this is why—he doesn’t know what Hux has done to the interior, but Ren can _feel_ the silver even from out in the hallway, and it’s not just from the blatantly silver knocker that Hux has mounted on the door. He can feel it coming from inside the rooms as well, a vague skin-itch that creeps underneath his flesh, up and down his spine and bristling at the back of his neck.

(Hux had been gone _so long_ this time, much longer than it would have taken him to go to London, deliver a series of letters for Snoke, and then return. What was he doing? Where had he gone? Why had he not _written_ Ren, why had he not _communicated_ with him in any way?)

He paces, and seethes. With someone else, he could change to mist and slide under the door, re-integrate himself in front of Hux’s astonished eyes. With someone else, the door would not matter, because there were no barriers, not when one was vampire—but Hux hasn’t given him permission, and so he paces in the hallway like some kind of—like some kind of _subordinate_.

It’s the fury from this, that Hux might perceive him as _lesser_ in some way, that galvanizes him to knock on the door, and so he does—grabs that gods-damned silver knocker even though it burns his flesh, and taps it on the door—once, twice, three times.

The sound of it echoes through the hallway and Ren steps back, rubbing his thumb on the burnt skin of his palm, pain shooting up all the way to his elbow just from having touched it. There is absolute silence, both within the hall and within Hux’s rooms, as though the man himself has stilled completely at the sound of his knocker on his own door.

And then, just as Ren is considering giving it up completely, the door opens.

The door opens, and there is Hux, unpolished and unwashed, his hair loose from its oil and the smell of the road on him—there is Hux, in a robe loosely tied around him, the hem inching up his leg, barely decent. Ren stares at the edge of the robe for a long moment. He cannot tell if Hux is bare beneath it. The thought, not knowing for certain, arrests him.

Hux makes him wait, at the threshold, for a long moment. Ren’s lips twitch, and he can feel his fangs pushing out, distorting his lips, but he says nothing. All of his speeches and his demands have evaporated like morning dew, that thing Ren has not seen since the mornings of his youth but remembers so vividly.

Hux steps back from the threshold. “You may come in.”

An invitation. Not only an invitation, but an extended invitation, the type that would allow him—

“This time,” Hux says, smirking.

Typical.

“You did not return on time,” Ren says belligerently, gathering his cloak tighter about him. “You did not return on time, and you did not contact me on your journey.” Ren brushes past Hux, into Hux’s rooms, and then—pauses.

(He feels it, crawling up and down his skin, the sheer _volume_ of the silver that Hux keeps in this place.)

“Ren,” Hux says, closing his door and returning to his desk, where he picks up a cup of tea and deliberately sips from it. The saucer has a silver spoon. “I’ve never sent a message to you before. Why would you assume that I would send one this time?”

Ren glares at him, drawing himself up to his full height—but even though Ren is taller than Hux, even though that slight difference is accentuated by Ren still wearing his boots, while Hux is barefoot, even then, Hux does not so much as flinch, just stares, unconcerned, up at Ren while he sips on his tea. Ren does not have an answer, nothing he would dare share with Hux, and Hux knows it.

All he has are days of Hux’s absence, the smell slowly fading from the halls; he has a hunger for something other than blood, and an emotion he did not name when Hux did not return as scheduled. No, he cannot tell Hux this.

“Nice place,” Ren says instead, reluctantly, shooting annoyed looks at the silver arranged on every surface. A silver headdress hanging on the wall, silver candle holders spread about the room, even a pair of silver dice on the desk that Ren has to look away from before he’s too reminded of another pair of dice. Being in this room makes his skin prickle.

“Mmm,” Hux agrees, a light glittering in his eyes like silver, like something that will burn Ren’s flesh raw. “But you didn’t come here to comment on the decor.”

Ren’s lip curls, but his eyes betray him, flick down and trace the edge of Hux’s robe. Words are tangled in his throat, caught in a net of longing and desire.

Hux shifts, exposing more of his pale thigh. He’s so pale, skin so thin and delicate Ren can see the blue veins through it. He wants to get closer, wants to lick at them, wants to feel the thud of blood through skin—Ren swallows, and then drags his eyes up.

“No, I didn’t.” Ren licks his lips, telling himself it’s an enticement and not nerves. “Your taste was…intriguing.” 

“My blood?”

“Not just.” It was, it _was_ , but— “There was—I could.”

 Hux waits. Hux, damn him, waits for him to drag the words out, to _say_ , and it’s almost as infuriating as it is arousing.

Ren shifts his weight, foot to foot. “There is—something about you that I find— _intriguing_. And I wish to—explore that. Further.”

“Your tongue on my cock?” Hux says.

Ren twitches, his stomach spasming with lust, and he wants to look away but there’s nowhere to look except the silver. “Yes.”

Hux smirks. “No.”

Time passes. Entire civilizations crumble and rebuild, and Hux’s _no_ echoes inside Ren’s head, vibrates through his very bones, resonates in his undead flesh over and over and over again, a series of endless _no_ and the sound of shattering glass following behind, as though every hope Ren has ever had was made of crystal and all of them have broken at once.

It has been only moments, and Ren’s chest catches, an entirely too human gesture that splays his heart open bare to Hux, pins him on the dissection table, holds him there under the steel of Hux’s gaze. “I thought—” he says, helpless.

“You _thought_ ,” Hux says derisively. He twitches at his robe, and it closes tighter about his body, covering that pale expanse of thigh, the blood vessels that Ren could see running under the surface of his moon-pale skin.

“I was _good_ ,” Ren says sharply, even though he doesn’t mean to let that slip—but his fangs are still out, and they impede his tongue, make his words come out thick and gravelled. “You liked it,” he mutters, but it sounds petty and small.

“That’s hardly the point,” Hux says, fixing the cuffs of his robe, rubbing at his own nails even though Ren cannot see any dirt on them. This done to his satisfaction, he turns away, walks into the other room.

Ren follows behind, because there is nothing else he can do. The silver in Hux’s sitting room itches on the surface of Ren’s skin, and he cannot abide both the silver and Hux’s absence.

Hux has a bathroom, of all things, in his suite of rooms. The room is spacious, covered in dark wood panelling with a tub that looks entirely larger than necessary and a separate door that presumably includes the toilet. A plush chair tucked into the corner—and it is to the vicinity of this chair that Kylo retreats, because the chair is the type of thing that could be in any sitting room, and thus, is less personal than everything else in here.

There is shelving on the walls and above the sink, and it is above the sink that Hux reaches, his long-fingered, delicate hands picking through his personal belongings. “Do you expect me to put any part of my body in that filthy mouth?”

Ren feels the rebuke through his entire body like the lash of a whip, hot shame dripping down his back. “Do I—”

“I said, do you expect me to put any part of my body in that filthy mouth? I know where it’s been.” Hux still faces away, hands moving over the small shelf. The small mirror above shows only a wash of his red hair and nothing of Ren himself, as though Ren does not exist and it is only Hux, here, alone.

Ren swallows. He’d been so sure—he wanted _so much_ — 

“No, I won’t be putting anything in there without verifying for myself that it’s clean.” Hux turns back, a bowl of water and a - cloth? - in his hand. “Sit.”

Ren sits. The plush chair grips at him, clutches at his body like so many grasping hands until he finds a position where he feels like he won’t be sucked into it.

“Open,” Hux commands, and Ren stretches his jaw wide.

Hux hesitates, looks at him. “Wider,” he says, and when Ren doesn’t move, he places his two fingers on Ren’s chin, and pushes his jaw further open, holds it there.

“Of course you can,” Hux mutters, judgemental even for things which will benefit him. He adjusts the belt of his robe, hitches the hem of it just a little higher—Ren looks down and sees a flash of ankle above Hux’s moccasins, and he can feel saliva beading in the back of his mouth—and looks down at Ren. “Knees together.”

Ren puts his knees together, and Hux approaches, his robe sliding over Ren’s legs as he straddles Ren’s knees. Ren can feel the heat of him through his pants.

“Hold this,” Hux says, and he hands the bowl of water to Ren.

Ren takes it. It’s not holy water—he would be able to feel the burn through the wooden bowl if it were—and it’s a clean bowl. Organic, with no traces of silver. (Ren’s skin still tingles from the silver in the next room—but Hux’s bathroom is better. Safer.)

Hux wets the cloth, and wraps it around the first two fingers of his hand. With his other hand, he holds Ren’s jaw open far beyond what a human would be capable of. For one blistering moment Ren imagines Hux pushing his entire fist in, gagging him with it, stretching his jaw beyond even his comfort—but instead, Hux _tuts_ and turns Ren’s head back and forth, looking.

“Hmph. You unwashed animal. Unable to even clean yourself properly. I can see what you’ve eaten, because you’ve left it to rot.” Hux pushes his fingers into Ren’s mouth and begins to rub the cloth over his teeth. “Do keep that ridiculous tongue of yours out of the way.”

Hux rubs the cloth over his teeth for what feels like ages, tutting every time he finds something else to be disappointed in. He switches between circular movements like he’s polishing his precious silver and long, straight sweeps along the inside of Ren’s teeth, and it feels like—oh, it feels just a little bit like— 

Ren twitches, flexes his hips minutely, trying to get any friction without Hux noticing—but Hux notices, of course he does. Hux stills, his expression freezing before turning to a molten smirk.

“Really? Degenerate.”

Ren could reply. But Hux still holds his jaw open, still holds his head still—he could break the hold—but that would be the end of it, and— 

—and Hux would throw him out, and maybe never let him taste again, and that is unbearable to think of—

—and there is _such_ pleasure in being held still, with his jaw forced open; such pleasure in being stared at with derision, like he really is a beast— 

Hux smirks, very faintly, and presses his cloth-covered fingers in, not over Ren’s teeth but onto his _tongue_. Ren’s fingers clench on the bowl and he whimpers around Hux’s long fingers, deep in his mouth. Hux takes long sweeps, back and forth on his tongue and Ren wraps his tongue around Hux’s fingers, elongates the tip to lap at the juncture of the first and second fingers, pleading in the only way he has left—and Hux is unmoved, continues to clean his mouth as though he is unaware that Ren is twitching underneath him.

Finally, finally, Hux stands and puts everything away on the shelf. Ren remains seated, shivering, as hard as he can physically be with so little blood in him, and staring up at the ceiling.

He forces a breath. “Done to your satisfaction?”

Hux snorts, and says instead, “On your knees.”

Ren sinks to the floor. He stares up at Hux, at the slit in his robe revealing pale skin all up his thigh but not what Ren wants to see, not what he wants to _taste_ — 

Hux puts his hand to the knot holding his robe closed—and stops. Ren nearly shakes with anticipation, bites his lip to keep from swearing aloud.

“If I feel your teeth, I will make your life miserable in ways you will not enjoy.” Ren swallows, and nods. “Good. Keep your hands to yourself”

Hux undoes the knot, lets the fabric fall open.

Ren _stares_.

All that pale skin, warm and soft, crying out for the touch of his tongue. Hux’s cock, nestled in red-gold pubic hair, like the sunrise or the sunset or the beams of the sun itself, cast across Hux’s flesh. And the smell! Road dust and the outdoors still cling to him, and there is sweat in the crease of his thigh. He hasn’t bathed yet, maybe hasn’t done more than wash his face and take off his filthy clothes, and, oh, Ren wishes he’d been earlier, wishes he hadn’t waited so long in his own rooms, wishes he’d just been decisive about the entire thing and gone immediately, the moment he had sensed that Hux had returned to the compound. He’d had an opportunity to get to Hux immediately, to get to Hux unwashed and covered in road dirt, and he could have laved over Hux’s entire body with his tongue, and—

(Time wasn’t supposed to mean anything, not now that he was vampire—but still, he longed, and he wanted, and he ached, and he was supposed to be past such things now, but Hux made him weak, and even worse, he didn’t mind.)

“Open.”

Ren can do nothing but obey. Ren can do nothing but open his mouth as far as he can, letting his tongue go wide and soft and inviting inside of his mouth.

Hux gives himself away, because his cock is thickening, and his heartbeat has picked up even if his breathing is still controlled. Hux gives himself away, and Ren is gone, Ren is destroyed, Ren will do anything Hux asks just because Hux gives him this, the sight of Hux’s cock thickening between his legs, the sheer scent of him, his arousal slowly getting more and more obvious.

“Eyes up.”

Ren looks up, meets Hux’s gaze with his own. Hux’s pupils have started to dilate. Ren wants to see more, he wants to see Hux’s eyes blown black, he wants to see them rolling back until all he can see from here is the whites, he wants those red-gold eyelashes fluttering, he wants Hux’s hand tight in his hair—

“You’re twitching,” Hux says coolly.

“You’re getting hard,” Ren responds.

Hux’s hand goes to the edge of his robe. “And?”

Ren opens his mouth again, jaw cracking. He flicks his tongue out, goes directly for the crease where Hux’s balls meet his body, licking at the sweat there. Hux exhales in a huff—and Ren presses in closer, licks at Hux’s cock, and then takes it in his mouth, sucks at him.

Oh, but Hux’s _taste—_ his skin, the pulse of blood, that perfect honesty that Hux couldn’t hide—Ren doesn’t have the breath to moan, but _oh_ , he would if he could, because Hux’s rapidly hardening cock in his mouth feels like a victory, having that cock pressed into his mouth is glorious, and Ren never wants to be anywhere but here, kneeling on the floor in front of Hux and sucking him off.

He keeps Hux’s cock in his mouth, elongates his tongue so that he can lave up the length of it and then curl under Hux’s cock to lap at the crease of his thigh, underneath his balls.

“Monstrous,” Hux breathes above him, the race of his blood betraying the insult. Ren swallows, just to feel that pounding pulse deep in his throat, and then again when Hux’s hand lands on his head.

That hand grips, tightens in his hair and Ren looks up, his eyes wet with tears he doesn’t need. Hux is flushed, his mask breaking, his face revealing what his blood and cock already has—Hux bites his lip, and that single movement makes Ren willing to beg.

Without hesitation, without any flicker of fear, as if Ren were _nothing_ , Hux adjusts his grip on Ren’s hair and forces his head down onto his cock. Again, and again, controlling the pace and depth, as if he were an inanimate object, a toy that only existed for pleasure.

It’s good, it’s delicious, this would almost be enough, but then -

Hux—pauses, holds his head still, and Ren begs as much as he can with his eyes and his tongue, trying to open his throat, trying to get Hux to— 

—ah, ah, _yes_ , Hux thrusting into his throat, Hux fucking his face, he’s been fantasizing about this since he’d tasted Hux’s seed—

He shuts his eyes and works his tongue, memorizing every feeling and smell—he’ll touch himself to this memory, next time he drinks enough to get hard, it’ll be so good, he’ll come so much— 

Hux thrusts down his throat, grinds against his face, and Ren aches under the weight of Hux’s possession. His scalp burns where Hux is twisting Ren’s hair around his fist, and his knees ache from kneeling on the floor, and Hux is _everywhere_ , the only thing Ren can smell, the only thing Ren can taste, and it’s so much effort to keep his teeth pulled in, to keep his mouth open, to keep his tongue working, but Ren can tell, he can hear the way Hux’s blood kicks higher and higher, feel the twitches in his hips—Ren shudders and he _wants_ , he wants so much—

Hux pulls back enough that when he comes, he comes on Ren’s tongue, and in his mouth. It fills his mouth with life and vitality, with salt and Hux and— 

It spills out of the corners of his mouth when Hux finally pulls out. Ren licks it up, desperate to not miss a drop. He doesn’t open his eyes.

Hux pets his hair, just once, before he lets go. It makes Kylo want to beg, makes him want to stay on his knees forever if it meant that Hux would touch him like that again.

But Hux pulls him up from the floor, roughly grabbing between his legs—and then frowns.

“I was under the impression you were enjoying this.”

Ren hisses, trying to thrust into the grip. “Not—not enough blood in my system for it.” He swallows, breathes enough to speak. “Still feels good.”

He can’t come like this, but even that is good, even that perpetual denial is sweet and delicious and—

“Hm.” A considering swipe against his cock. “Interesting.” Hux adjusts his grip, but doesn’t let go. Ren stares at him with wide eyes, panting for breath he doesn’t need, because Hux is smiling very faintly and fuck, if Ren could come right now he would—

“You know,” Hux says casually. “I have yet to understand why you keep yourself in this...state.”

“Leader Snoke—” Ren begins.

“Spare me,” Hux says, and it should be blasphemy, it should—but Hux’s hand is still on his cock, and if Ren objects, Hux may pull away from him. “I imagine you’re regretting that decision now,” Hux says.

Ren swallows, and says nothing. Hux considers a long moment, curling his fingers, and scraping his nails along the underside of Ren’s flaccid cock.

“In that case, Lord Ren…” Hux squeezes, enough to make Ren _whine_. “You have a long evening in front of you. I’d planned to tease you until you came, but if you’re unable to get hard, I have considerably more time at my disposal than I had anticipated.”

Ren’s eyelids flutter shut, and he swallows. “Yes,” he says, words thick in his mouth. “Yes, Hux. Yes.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Star can be found on tumblr at [splinteredscript](http://splinteredscript.tumblr.com/).
> 
> ktula can be found on tumblr at [heyktula](http://heyktula.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [at the same handle.](https://twitter.com/heyktula)


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